It's raining in Manhattan, only our second day of rain even though we've been here a month. It's a nice sort of change from the blazing sun, and I love how it virtually clears the streets. The mobs go underground on days like this, sweltering in stuffy tunnels beneath my feet, waiting for a dry ride. I can trudge along in my black raincoat up here, happy enough despite damp feet. But hold your breath - the rain brings all sorts of smells out of the sidewalks, none of them pleasant. So much for the sweet, earthy smell of a rainy morning.
Being here has been a chance to exhale. Leaving northern Alberta was like a rebirth in every sense, but babies don't come out of the womb laughing. We emerged from that two-year darkness with squinted eyes against the light, grimaces and tears. I felt like a coal pony being brought up out of the mine for the first time in ages, who nearly goes blind in the sun.
It's now been over four months since we left, and I find myself plagued with regret. I wish to God that we had never gone there, that we had chosen another way (harder? easier? which is which?). Yes, we are debt-free, but this so-called freedom had a terrible cost. And now we are left trying to rebuild ourselves, to use these stones that are burned to create a new wall, a new home. But the going is slow.
This summer was a whirlwind, a necessary one I think. We kept ourselves intentionally busy so that we could distance ourselves enough from the past to actually deal with it. Don't get me wrong - we had a lot of fun times with friends and family (lots of stressful times too, but what else is new). But this time in New York has been, so far, what we really needed. In the midst of the bustle of this never-sleeping city, and our own internal bustling, we are starting to breath again and find a measure of peace again and remember what it means to be human again - to truly be human.
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